Her eyes widened, soft and uncertain.
I turned to Lucy. “If this isn’t what she wants, release me. Put me back wherever you need a worker. I’ll mop floors or clean the lower pits, whatever it takes. But she deserves to be free.”
Lucy looked me over, her expression unreadable for a long moment. Then she smiled in that infuriating, knowing way of hers. “You might be my favorite mistake yet, Mr. Robbins. But no, there’s no need for martyrdom. The bond stands. And since an imprinted pair can’t compete, the contest is officially finished. We’ll reset it for a new season and figure out all of the finer details.”
Ivy made a soft sound beside me, something between disbelief and relief.
Lucy continued, “We’ll hold a celebration—Hell loves a good spectacle. And you two are the newest headline.”
She turned toward the door. “Try not to burn anything down while I plan it.”
And just like that, she was gone, the air settling in her wake.
For a while, neither of us spoke. Ivy stood a few feet away, looking down at the gold circling her wrist. She touched it like she wasn’t sure it was real.
“I don’t know what to say,” she murmured.
“Then don’t.” I stepped closer, enough that I could see the faint tremble of her hands. “You didn’t trap me, Ivy. You saved me.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine. “You don’t even know what that means yet.”
“I do.” I hesitated, then told the truth. “When I came here, I figured Hell was punishment. But somehow, since meeting you, it’s started to feel like a second chance. You made it that way.”
Color rose to her cheeks, the kind that had nothing to do with heat. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not? They’re true.”
She opened her mouth, then stopped. I could see the war in her expression—fear and longing pulling in opposite directions.
I stepped closer again, slow and careful. “You don’t have to be afraid of this. Or of me. I don’t know what will happen next, but I do know one thing.”
Her voice was a whisper. “What’s that?”
“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”
She froze, eyes wide, lips parted. For once, I didn’t try to fill the silence. I just let the words hang there, honest and heavy.
When she finally spoke, her voice shook. “You shouldn’t love me, Max. I’m not what I used to be.”
“Good,” I said. “Neither am I.”
Something in her expression broke then—not in the way things shatter, but in the way something finally opens. She stepped into me, hands finding my chest like she needed proof I was real.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered.
“Then don’t be.”
Her lips met mine—soft, searching, and sure—every ounce of fear I’d carried since arriving in this place dissolved in that kiss. The bond between us wasn’t heavy. It was light.
Then something shifted. The air moved, a quiet rush behind her. She gasped and pulled back just enough for me to see it happen—wings unfolding from her shoulders, black and glossy, edged in iridescent color that caught every light in the room.
I forgot how to breathe.
“Ivy…”
She looked over her shoulder, disbelief turning to awe. “They’re different.”
“They’re perfect,” I said. “They’re you.”
